


nightmares.

by Skyuni123



Series: benthan week 2019 [4]
Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sleep, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 11:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: post-lane, benji's having nightmares.ethan has a solution.





	nightmares.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt was angst

Benji wakes, slick with sweat, and taut with panic.

It used to be a reflex, an urge, to reach next to his bed and grab his inhaler, but he’s not fourteen anymore, and it’s not an asthma attack.

Panic grips his chest, jangles sharply at his nerves, and he breathes, shallowly, unable to force just enough air down his windpipe.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

He puts his head between his knees, ignoring the pounding in his scalp and the pain splintering across his ribs. Tears track down his face, and he rucks the sheets up in his hands, trying to hold on, trying to focus.

It has been two days since the bomb, since Lane was carted off to jail, since everything.

It has been two days, and he’s had a headache for all of them.

They’ve not been permitted to go home yet - something something about international terrorists and select committees, so they’re stuck in London, in a safehouse, and there’s nothing to do except wallow in victory and lick their wounds.

Benji finally, finally,  _ finally  _ pulls some air in through the knot in his chest and he sags down against the bed, flat on his back amongst the sweaty sheets.

He’d dreamed of Lane, the Bone Doctor, and the bomb.

It’s all he can think about.

Benji supposes he should probably see a psychiatrist, or one of the specialists back at the office, but it’s a little hard when he’s trapped in a shitty apartment on the edge of London, waiting to be allowed to go home.

He shifts his pillows about, trying to find a way to get back to sleep. He’s only had about four hours over the last couple of days, tossing and turning whenever he closes his eyes and he just- wants to sleep. 

But it doesn’t come.

He thumps over on his side and curls up a little, feeling lightheaded, irritated, and more than a little despondent. He just wants to rest.

The noise is probably what wakes Ethan, but he’s quite a light sleeper anyway. The only time Benji’s seen him get a full eight hours was when he was comatose. 

That’s the thing about safehouses - there isn’t much space. Benji and Ethan are sharing a room - Benji’s got the bed, Ethan’s on a couch (because he had  _ insisted _ ), and sound travels decently in the dark.

“Benji?” Ethan asks, sounding utterly alert and enthusiastic, despite the fact he’s just woken up.

_ Bastard.  _ His skills get more and more annoying each day. “Yeah?”

“You… doing alright?”

“I was nineteen milliseconds away from death two days ago, Ethan, what do you think?” And look, he doesn’t mean to snap - really, truly, he doesn’t - it’s just… a lot, that’s all. Looking death in the face.

There’s rustling from Ethan’s side of the room. It sounds like he’s trying to get comfortable on the couch. “...Point.” 

“I have never been so scared in my entire life. When you sat down at that table I was convinced that we wouldn’t ever leave. I don’t- I just- it’s like there’s this division in my life now, right? Like before Lane I was fairly happy with everything, just coasting along, but now there’s Before Lane and After Lane, and I don’t like where After Lane is going. I just want to- rest. For about a million years, but every time I close my eyes I see his damn face.” He exhales, heavily, pressing his head into the pillow. He’s so tired, so overwrought, exhausted down to his bones and perhaps even further still. “And my head is killing me and I just can’t- with this.”

Ethan is quiet for so long that Benji’s fairly sure he’s just fallen asleep. Then he says, “You know what I used to do when I couldn’t sleep after missions?”

“I wasn’t aware you did sleep.”

“Benji, I’m not a vampire, no matter how many times Brandt tries to prove as such.” Ethan says, sounding offended. “I took sleeping pills. Constantly. And it was horrible. They ruin you for anything else. It was an addiction, for a while.”

“...Yeah?” Benji says, blearily, because he can’t really imagine Ethan being addicted to anything other than running ridiculous distances and thrill-seeking.    
  


“Yeah. It was horrifying. They make you drowsy like you wouldn’t believe. I missed a shot once because I was yawning. Awful.”

“Gosh,” Benji replies, and only just manages to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Whatever did you do?”

“Found a different way.” And the way that his voice pitches a little differently at the end is just… concerning.

“I swear to God, Ethan, if you’re going to suggest wank-”

“Masturbating is all well and good, but if you’re riding the edge of a bad mission it’ll just flood your system with depressants and then everything will seem worse,” Ethan says, cheerily. It is clear that he has given the subject quite some thought. “Massage.”

Benji chokes on air. “I’m sorry?”

“Pressure points. Massage. It’s really very effective, if you know what you’re doing. Would you like to try?”

“I’m not especially good with my hands.” Benji says, which is a lie. He’s just not really in the mood to follow Ethan down whatever weird rabbit hole he’s heading into next.

“Well, that’s not true, you’re a technician,” The other man replies, patiently, “And you don’t do it to yourself. It doesn’t work very well solo. Care to try?”

The thing is-

The thing  _ is-  _ Benji’s exhausted, and his head’s throbbing, and he wants to go to bed. It’s not unreasonable to take Ethan up on his suggestion, and the man is very rarely wrong. “...Sure.”

Ethan pads over, softly on the carpet, and crouches next to the bed. It’s quite dark in the room, streetlights outside barely casting shadows through the slat blinds, but he seems loose-limbed and not particularly worried.

That makes one of them. 

“Lie on your stomach,” Ethan says, and motions in a haphazard manner towards Benji’s  _ Back to the Future  _ tee. “It works better skin to skin.”

“Mmphf,” Benji mmphfs, too sleepy and miffed to care, but drags the worn tee off anyway. 

And, you know, it’s  _ nice. _

It’s nice to feel someone who cares run his hands up his back and along the sides of his spine. It’s nice to feel the tension slowly wrenched out of his muscles, the warmth and the slide of someone who  _ cares.  _

He can feel his libido beginning to take interest, just a little, but he’s too exhausted to do anything about it. Maybe another day, when they’re not in the dark and he can see straight without his vision blurring at the edges.

It’s intimate, though - in the dark.

“You’re good at this,” He says, huskily, and a little sleepily, and just tries to cover a yawn.

“I spent six months in deep cover as a masseuse at a health resort in Switzerland.” Ethan replies, “It was part of the job description.”

_ Of course he did.  _ “Really…?”

“Yep. It was a good time, too. How’s that feeling?”

“Much more relaxed,” Benji says, and it’s true. “I’m not particularly sleepy, though.”

“Mmmm.” Ethan replies, non-committedly, and runs his hands up Benji’s neck to his scalp. He presses in, at a few points just along the nape of his neck, and Benji sags like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Relaxation floods through his body, washing away any sort of fear or pain. It’s like magic, almost, and if it was anyone else giving him the massage he’d swear it was.

“What the hell did you just do to me?” He slurs, in amazement and the tiniest amount of fear. Ethan is annoyingly competent on his best days but this is too much.

“Given you a break.” Ethan says, and rubs a hand gently through his hair and off his head, “Go to sleep.”

“But what if I-”

“I’ll be here.” He says, soothingly, and grips Benji by the bicep for a moment, “Just rest. We’ll be home soon, and then you can talk to someone about those dreams, eh?” 

“But I didn’t-” He hadn’t even  _ told… _

“I know...”

Benji sleeps for six hours and doesn’t dream. 

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on the [ tumblr ](http://eph-em-era.tumblr.com)


End file.
